


sport so agreeable and sweet

by pirateygoodness



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 21:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13256577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirateygoodness/pseuds/pirateygoodness
Summary: Sara turns to find Guinevere straight-backed, jaw set. There's none of the calm or ease that Sara noticed over dinner - all of that gone with the gravity of the task ahead. Sara thinks about how hard it must be for her, to be named leader so unexpectedly and have this responsibility thrust into her lap.(Or maybe she’s not seeing that all. Maybe she’s -projecting, that’s the word Laurel would have used.)(Whatever.)





	sport so agreeable and sweet

Sara doesn’t know if it’s really her place to be here. 

Nate gave her (and everyone who he thought would listen) a lecture about proper medieval deportment, but Sara doesn't remember most of it - mainly because she doesn't care. She’s sure that if she asked, he’d be able to list off a whole series of rules about the proper way to address royalty. 

Showing up to a lady's quarters uninvited is probably breaking most of them. But even if Sara doesn't know all of the rules to Guinevere’s society, she’s savvy enough to recognize a fellow warrior, one who could use a little bit of support. 

Guinevere’s rooms are in a tower in the centre of the castle, up three flights of stairs and down a drafty hallway. Past the guards at the entrance, Sara can see walls lined with tapestries to keep in the heat. It takes more than a little sweet-talking to get either of Guinevere's guards to agree to give her a message, but eventually one of them relents. 

He walks down the long hallway, knocks three times on the heavy door at the end and there's a murmured conversation that Sara can't quite hear. The hinges groan a little, and then the door is opening more fully and Guinevere is walking down the hall toward her. 

She doesn’t look like a queen at a banquet anymore. Her hair’s loose around her shoulders, and her ermine and silk have been replaced with a much simpler dress and a plainer wool cape that matches Sara's own. That larger-than-life quality has evaporated now that the guests have dispersed and what's left is a woman, about Sara's age, worn out after a very long day. The responsibility she’s been given - to lead her husband’s army, to save the kingdom all on her own - seems to hang on her like a weight. 

“Lady Sara,” she says. The words are slightly forced, like she’s trying to put authority into it that she doesn't quite feel. “This is - unexpected." 

Sara fidgets, trying to keep herself from feeling awkward. The guards are watching her, eyes trained on her every movement. "I apologize for the intrusion," she says. It's a long while before she remembers to add, "- Your Grace." 

The corners of Guinevere's mouth quirk ever so slightly at her misstep. "To what do I owe this visit?”

“I just wanted to see how you were,” Sara says. “I know you have a lot to prepare for, but I thought - perhaps I could be of assistance.”

“You’re right,” Guinevere says, tightly. “I do have a great deal to prepare.”

Sara feels her heart ache at the sight of her, this one woman responsible for so much and maybe she's putting her own experience onto Guinevere, a little, but she knows she's not wrong. “There’s a saying, where I come from. Two heads are better than one?”

Guinevere frowns. She's considering her options, her face a mask befitting her station, but Sara can see the worry in the set of her mouth and the way she fidgets with the hem of her cape. "Perhaps," she says, softly. "Speak with me in my rooms, Lady Sara, about what your head can offer mine." 

 

Guinevere's quarters are impressive - which Sara probably should have expected. Sara just hadn't thought about it much. Honestly, she hadn't thought of anything past maybe saying hello to Guinevere and making sure she's doing alright. But now she's here, being walked into a large room, clearly meant for meetings and entertaining guests. 

The walls are lined with curtains, making it noticeably warmer than the rest of the castle. There's a fire burning in the fireplace at one end of the room, candles set around the table to give light. The main piece of furniture is a large table, covered with several layers of maps. As Sara moves closer, she recognizes the layout of the castle and the surrounding lands, no doubt hand drawn in perfect detail. 

She runs her hand across the map on top. It's made of something softer than paper, more sturdy. From the back of her memory, as if supplied by Gideon, the word _vellum_ floats up. "These are useful," she says. 

Guinevere's voice is weary as she says. "Yes." 

Sara turns to find Guinevere straight-backed, jaw set. There's none of the calm or ease that Sara noticed over dinner - all of that gone with the gravity of the task ahead. Sara thinks about how hard it must be for her, to be named leader so unexpectedly and have this responsibility thrust into her lap. 

(Or maybe she’s not seeing that all. Maybe she’s - _projecting_ , that’s the word Laurel would have used.)

(Whatever.)

"You should -" Sara begins, but she can't bring herself to finish the sentence. She doesn't have any real advice to give. She just feels this kinship, for Guinevere and the position she's in. So many times she's wished for someone there, to help her feel less alone in making the tough calls, and she thought - something. That maybe Guinevere would need the same thing. "I don't know." 

To Sara's surprise, she's rewarded with a genuine smile. "Then we're in agreement," she says. "Neither do I." 

Sara shrugs. "I've had to make difficult decisions before. Sometimes it's easier to make them when you're not alone." 

Guinevere nods. She moves to the table, sets her hands on either side of the maps there and frowns. Sara stands beside her. She can see little blocks, arranged in formation around the castle - few in white on the inside of Camelot's walls against many more in red advancing from across the plains. 

Guinevere's hand moves from the table to cover Sara's own, her fingers resting loosely in the space where Sara's fingers are spread open. 

Sara looks up to find Guinevere watching her. Sara shouldn't be thinking about how pretty she is. She shouldn't be thinking about the soft curve of Guinevere's lower lip or the swell and fall of her breasts framed by the bodice of her dress. She should be thinking about tactics. 

Guinevere's gaze drops just a little. She's the one who kisses Sara first. 

Her mouth barely skims Sara's, soft and chaste, but there's a delicacy to it that stirs the beginnings of desire in Sara. When Guinevere pulls away, she's blushing fiercely but her gaze is sure. "I hope you don't think me too bold," she says. 

Sara shouldn't be - she should find this too bold. She should turn Guinevere away because there's a chance that this could affect the timeline, because it's not her place, because a lot of very good reasons. But Guinevere's tracing little circles across the back of Sara's hand with her thumb and there's such confidence in her eyes that Sara can feel herself being seduced by it. She finds herself leaning in, her body responding instinctively to that sweet, sure face. "Of course not," Sara replies. 

Guinevere initiates their second kiss, as she did their first: soft but a little more eagerly. Sara is trying her best to follow, to let this be what Guinevere needs it to be. She's sure all she wants is a kiss. Just some reassurance, a little closeness before the battle ahead. But Guinevere is insistent, tugging Sara closer and turning them until they're breathing each other in, open-mouthed and gasping. 

Sara's hands are around Guinevere's waist, cradling her beneath her cape. She's so slight, deceptively small, but Sara can feel the strength in her as she pulls Sara nearer and with a movement that's almost practiced, fits their hips together through their skirts. Sara can't quite suppress a soft, "Oh." 

Guinevere breaks the kiss, eyes wide and searching Sara's expression. "Did I -"

Sara shakes her head. Guinevere's done absolutely everything right, it's nothing like that. It's the idea of _making out with the lady Guinevere_ and the very real possibility that she might do a lot more. "I just - was surprised," Sara manages, her voice high and breathy and absolutely giving away her arousal. "In a good way." 

"Before a battle, Arthur often - " Guinevere begins before ducking her head, suddenly shy. Sara's pretty sure people don't talk much about sex in this era.

"I understand," Sara says. For someone who isn't really a soldier, she's been in more than her share of battles and she knows this feeling. Knows the way that nervousness can sometimes sublimate into desire and how _helpful_ it can be to release a bit of it to get a clearer head. 

Surely, the timeline will understand if she helps Guinevere with this one thing. 

"What would you like me to do, Your Grace?" 

Guinevere's hips surge forward as she presses herself against Sara's pelvis, rocking them both together. "Call me Guinevere," she whispers. 

There's a rustling from between them, as Guinevere starts to move her skirts. Sara's done enough time travel to learn more than she ever thought she'd need to know about historical undergarments, and Guinevere's are a series of skirts upon skirts. It's a cold night, tonight, and Sara finds at least three underskirts before she stops counting because Guinevere is guiding Sara's hand to her bare thigh. Her skin is soft and so warm, and as Sara slips her fingertips higher she's rewarded with a shiver and a little sigh of delight. 

She runs her hand high enough that the air around her fingers starts to feel humid, and when Guinevere's thigh starts to feel sticky under her touch she pauses. "Where do you want me to -" Sara begins, before she realizes what a stupid question that's going to be. She tries again: "Where should we lay down?" 

There's a soft, needy whimper in the back of Guinevere's throat, barely audible before she cuts it off and finds her composure. "There," she whispers. "Beside the fire." 

It's five steps toward the fire before Sara is easing Guinevere onto her back, settling her down on the rug in front of it. The flames are slowly burning down to embers, not casting as much light as they should but more than warm enough to heat the room. Sara hikes Guinevere's skirts to her hips and knows that the shiver is from desire and not cold. She leans forward, nuzzling at the bodice to Guinevere's dress. Underneath it is soft skin, breasts that are probably oversensitive and delicious to kiss. But Sara can't figure out a way to get Guinevere out of her dress that doesn't involve a lot of time or cutting her out of it, doesn't feel like either would go over well. 

Instead, she kisses at her chest. She presses her lips and nose to the soft swell of Guinevere's cleavage and breathes her in, nuzzling until Guinevere is whimpering and tugging at her cape. Slowly, Sara slides the hand at Guinevere's thigh just a little bit higher until she's rewarded with velvet-softness, warm and slippery against her fingertips. She practically slips her way up against Guinevere's clit and as soon as Sara finds the right spot, Guinevere is arching against her, curling forward and biting down on Sara's shoulder. Her bite is hard enough Sara's sure it'll leave a mark, as she starts to rub, gently, across her clit. It hardly takes any time at all for Guinevere's sighs to reach a fever pitch, for her to go quiet and still and then leave a surge of wetness against Sara's palm. 

That hardly counts. Sara's sure that teaching women from this era about multiple orgasms is probably, _technically_ , interfering with history, but it's also the right thing to do. 

She slides her fingers backward, letting herself appreciate the slickness of Guinevere, the way that she's ready and pliant. Her cunt eagerly accepts Sara's finger, and then another, inner walls flexing around her as Guinevere leans back against the rug and sighs. " _Sara_ ," she hisses as she rocks her hips down onto Sara's hand. 

Sara bends her thumb, letting it provide pressure against the base of Guinevere's clit and watches as she starts to fuck Sara's hand. It's _so_ pretty, her blushing cheeks and the cascade of red hair around her and the way her whole body arches up, up, and then - _yes._ That's an orgasm Sara can feel proud of. 

Sara stays close, lets Guinevere ride her hand until she seems done. Guinevere's expression is overwhelmed but delighted, her gasps coming with a wide grin that's such a contrast to the worry that was on her face just minutes ago. "You're so -" Guinevere sighs, head lolling against the rug. 

Sara eases slick fingers out of her, rearranges them both so that she can hold Guinevere close in front of the fire. Guinevere giggles, turns so that Sara's fitted against her back. "Better, Your Grace?" Sara asks. 

Guinevere laughs again. Sara's arm is slung across Guinevere's chest and she turns her head to kiss it, mouth hitting the fabric above Sara's birthmark. "Much," she sighs. "Thank you." 

Sara does her best to stay still. Her body feels like it's on fire, every inch of her aching and oversensitive. She can't help herself: Guinevere is beautiful when she comes, and it's not every day Sara gets the chance to have sex with a woman from Arthurian legend. Everything between Sara's legs is throbbing - she'll have to find time to take care of herself, once she's back on the Waverider. 

She waits as Guinevere comes back to herself, as her breathing slows and the glow in her cheeks starts to dissipate. She's not expecting Guinevere to turn in her arms, a shy smile on her face. Nor is she expecting Guinevere to reach for her skirts. 

She's not expecting it, but she'll take it. 

Guinevere's hands are gentle but sure as she works out the layers of skirts underneath Sara's dress. She lifts each layer with a slowness that only serves to build Sara's anticipation. It can't take more than a few minutes for Guinevere to unwrap her, finding the last layer of skirts and sliding her palms across Sara's legs, but _god_ it feels like forever. Guinevere's hands wrap themselves around Sara's ankles, her calves, then up to her knees, thighs, then _oh_ right against her vulva. 

It's delicious. It's so much better than taking care of this herself, and when Guinevere bites her lip and looks up at Sara through her eyelashes, Sara feels her cunt flex in response. "Is this -" Guinevere whispers. 

She sounds so shy, so full of wonder and it does something to Sara, having another woman look at her like that. She's pretty far gone already, desire sort of overtaking her higher brain function. It's an effort for Sara to sigh out, "Yeah - yes." 

Guinevere blushes. 

Her fingers twitch, tentative for a moment before she presses them against Sara's cunt. Guinevere's touch is exploratory at first, mapping every inch of Sara in a way that makes her shiver and sigh. She's not used to being touched like this - not used to any hands that aren't her own, utilitarian and purpose-driven. Guinevere caresses her like she's something precious, like Sara is the first woman she's ever touched before. Her fingertips skim across Sara's inner lips before brushing against her clit and Sara's so worked up that just the brief contact is enough to make her moan. 

Sara's knees bend instinctively, giving Guinevere better access and all but begging her to touch _more._ Guinevere circles back down until she finds Sara's entrance and hovers there, tentatively. "Shall I -" she asks. 

"Please," Sara huffs. She's more worked up than she's been in a while, in the mood to want things forceful and rough. Guinevere's touch is anything but that - one slim finger sliding into her with slowness that's almost torture - but somehow that's even _better._ The only thing Sara can think about right now is her cunt. Every part of it is over-sensitive, exquisitely aware of the shape and motion and angle of Guinevere inside her. Sara's so wet, so hot, so _close_ that there's hardly any friction at all as Guinevere slips out of her, then in again. 

"Please, _more_ ," Sara whimpers. 

Guinevere responds by changing her touch, slipping what feels like more fingers into Sara. "Lady, I -" Guinevere whispers, fucking Sara with slow, gentle thrusts that are somehow overwhelming and not nearly enough all at once. 

" _Guinevere_ ," Sara sighs. It's hardly intelligible, the first syllable clear and the rest buried in a moan. 

Sara reaches down, pawing at her skirts until she has enough space to touch herself. She settles her fingers against her clit, hand brushing up against Guinevere's as she settles into place and she just needs, she _needs_ -

Guinevere somehow understands. Her thrusts grow faster, and she matches her pace with the movement of Sara's fingers and suddenly everything is _perfect._ Sara's vision goes white and then she sees stars and the entirety of her awareness is fixed on the space between her legs, delicious friction turning into warmth and then the rush of her orgasm. She comes with a groan, Guinevere's name in the back of her throat. Vaguely, she's aware of Guinevere's gasp as Sara starts to shudder around her hand, the waves of it lasting for what feels like minutes. 

Eventually Sara's hips still, the last shudders of her orgasm still fluttering gently around Guinevere's hand. 

Slowly, the sounds of the rest of the world come back. Sara notices the crackle of the fire beside them, the coarse fibers of the rug against her lower back, Guinevere's ragged breathing as she stares at Sara, awed. "Oh," Guinevere whispers. 

Tenderly, sweetly, she slides her fingers out of Sara and lifts them up to marvel at the wetness, glinting in the firelight. It's cute, and Sara can't help but chuckle as she sits up and takes Guinevere's hands in her own, guides them so that she can wipe them off on Sara's skirts. "You truly are a wonder," Guinevere says. 

Sara shakes her head. "Sometimes even the best of us need to work off tension before a fight." 

Guinevere's smile is soft as she nods. She rests her palm against Sara's cheek and Sara lets herself lean into it. "Thank you." 

Guinevere's looking at Sara like she's one of the knights in Ray's old stories - like there's something amazing about her. It's an odd thing to feel, and Sara shies away from it, breaking eye contact. "Don't worry about it," she says, a little gruffly. 

"Please allow me to -" Guinevere begins, before pausing as though to stop herself. "I would like to be sure you're safe, tonight. Do you still insist on staying outside of Camelot?"

Sara feels herself being seduced again. The idea of staying here, of waking up in these soft arms (and the lingering possibility of a second round, with the way Guinevere's watching her) is more tempting than it should be. "I need to take care of my team," Sara says. She reaches up, runs her thumb across Guinevere's jaw in a mirroring caress. "As you need to take care of your kingdom." 

Guinevere's eyes shut tight and she drags Sara toward her, kissing her long and slow and sweet. "Until the morning, Lady Sara Lance." 

"Until then."


End file.
